


The Christmas Call

by lookingforatardis



Series: Charmie Ficmas 2018 [6]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Christmas, Light Angst, M/M, Phone Calls & Telephones, by some miracle this didnt turn out insanely angsty, can you tell lmfao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-14 00:46:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16902915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookingforatardis/pseuds/lookingforatardis
Summary: 2:41am, December 25th.We'd been down this road before. He called every year, it was practically tradition at this point for my phone to ring in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve, technically Christmas morning, with his exhausted voice. The first year, I had forgotten to turn my phone on vibrate before going to bed. The second, it was more intentional, but now it was just routine to see if he followed the pattern.





	The Christmas Call

**Author's Note:**

> this was meant to be hella angsty but is somehow not that bad. you're welcome. consider it my gift considering what im about to do to all of you this weekend.

2:41am, December 25th

 

We'd been down this road before. He called every year, it was practically tradition at this point for my phone to ring in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve, technically Christmas morning, with his exhausted voice. The first year, I had forgotten to turn my phone on vibrate before going to bed. The second, it was more intentional, but now it was just routine to see if he followed the pattern.

I open my eyes and let out a yawn as I reach for the phone, tucking it under my ear and as I answer it with a smile. "Hmm?"

"Shit, you're sleeping."

"Course I am," I laugh, voice a bit scratchy. I kept a bottle of water near my bed for just this reason and reach for it, my eyes squinting in the dark to find it. I take a long sip before sighing and snuggling back under the blanket.

"You'd think I'd learn," he says, some rustling in the background. Certainly it's not her, she goes to bed before he calls me each year. Maybe wrapping paper. "We just finished."

"If you started earlier then you wouldn't have to stay up late," I point out, thinking about the first time he called a few years ago even later than tonight, his voice rough and deep and frustrated that despite his exhaust, he couldn't turn his mind off. We talked until he fell asleep. It wasn't fair.

"We tried, it just doesn't happen. She'll just buy more stuff so we have things to wrap, I swear." I listen closely to the sound of him relaxing on their couch, or at least I hope that's where he is, where I can picture him. The lights of the Christmas tree illuminating his face, his eyes skating over the presents tirelessly. My bones ache.

"Think Harper will try to sneak a peek this year?"

"Oh most definitely. Her friend at school told her she saw Santa last year. Harper is determined."

"Just get a costume," I suggest, smiling against my pillow at the thought. "Dress up and spook her."

"Nah, she'd never stop believing if I did that."

"Hmm."

"What?" His voice is softer, more contained. I love him like this, when his confidence takes a back seat and he's comfortable to just _be_ , just listen, just exist and enjoy life around him instead of feeling the need to _be_ the life all around him. I sink into the sound of his breathing and pull my blankets closer to my neck.

"They'll be a day when you wish she still believed, is all." He chuckles and I can't help but smile at the sound. My body is trying to slip back into blissful sleep, but if I close my eyes, I can almost pretend he's in the room with me, on the bed with me, laughing a few feet away instead of a few thousand miles away.

"I guess you're right. She's growing up too fast. Ford, too. It's like every time I blink they're these new little people who do and say new things. It's insane."

"I wish I could see them more. They really are different people each time I do." I feel anxious as time passes without him responding. I have to fight sleep in the silence, his steady breathing lulling me.

"I wish you could, too. They ask about you. I never know what to say." His voice wakes me up, my breathing quickening to attempt to keep me awake. I focus in on his words and feel an ache in my chest where he should be.

"What _do_ you say?" I ask quietly, my voice sleep drenched and hesitant. I can't bring myself to feel awkward about it.

"I… it depends," he says. I can hear him breathing still. I want him breathing next to me, around me. I turn the volume of my phone up and listen.

"On what?"

"On what they ask."

"What do they ask?"

"Why you aren't here. Or… why you're my phone background."

"I'm your phone background?" I ask, lips curling against the blanket that's snaked up to my chin.

"It's that one we took the last time we were together." It's so simple, the way he says it. It's almost enough to bring me to tears instantaneously. We were just hanging out, both sitting on a couch, when he took his phone out and snapped a picture of me. I was staring at my phone, hair a little shaggy and more curly that I'd been letting it go, and I was wearing his hoodie. His face was caught in it, just half of it, but enough to see his smile.

"I love that one," I mumble.

"I know."

"What do you tell them?" I ask, resisting the urge to look at the picture myself, feeling too tired to try.

"That I miss you. It makes me miss you less."

"Armie," I sigh. I can feel the veins in my body, the tired ache in my joints, the chill on my spine, the restless urge to cry or jump on a plane or both, the knowledge that it'll never change a weight on my chest. I nearly hang up, knowing there is no alternative solution to where we are. He will stay with her as long as he thinks he should, and I will wait until it kills me. I was never quite certain if he knew the power he held, if he understood I'd wait, that if he said the word I'd leave whoever I was with to be with him. I knew if the roles were reversed, he'd do the same. If he wasn't married, if it were me. If I were the one with children, with in-laws, with a life intertwined so deeply with another person that it felt nearly impossible to remove them. But because it is he who is married, and not me, I am the one who waits. Who answers the phone at 3am. Who sends Christmas gifts to children I only wish would call me family.

"It's the truth."

"What does _she_ say?"

"She doesn't say anything," he sighs. I've seen her _not say anything_ before. It usually involved her kissing him. I turn over and readjust the phone so I can stare out the window and pretend I can see his light out there somewhere while he talks. "I sent you something. Did it arrive?"

"Yesterday. I haven't opened it. Did mine?"

"Yes. I was waiting." Waiting, that's all we do. Wait. Wait until our schedules align, until we're alone, until he'll let me loop my arms around him, until he feels like kissing me is okay, until more is unavoidable, until his resolve crumbles, until he feels guilty.

"Maybe tomorrow night?" I ask, too tired and sad to find his gift now. He laughs, real low. It makes my stomach flutter with butterflies and my lips turn up, my head spin.

"Tomorrow is today," he whispers. "It's Christmas."

"Hmm, Merry Christmas," I smile.

"Merry Christmas," he whispers, his voice so tender that it takes my breath away. "You should sleep, Tim."

"Mmm, okay," I mumble. He laughs again, the sound filling my chest with warmth. "Love you."

"Love you. Sleep well, okay?" I nod before thinking better of it, but he seems to know. "Goodnight."

"Night."

 

I awoke to a text from him, a simple thing, but it left me breathless and fuzzy.

_Maybe next year santa will bring me you. Merry Christmas Sweet Tea._

 

 

 

 


End file.
